


Stay Your Tears

by writingsofa_hobbit



Category: The Hobbit - J. R. R. Tolkien
Genre: F/M, Fluff and Angst, Pre-The Hobbit
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-01-17
Updated: 2017-01-17
Packaged: 2018-09-18 06:34:03
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,626
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9372458
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/writingsofa_hobbit/pseuds/writingsofa_hobbit
Summary: Thranduil has been avoiding the reader ever since the death of his father and king, King Oropher. The reader tries to show the newly crowned Elvenking that she loves him, and that she is there for him.





	

Ever since the Battle of Dagorlad and the War of the Last Alliance, Thranduil attended to the duties forced upon him with a frown upon his lips and sorrow in his heart, his father’s crown weighing heavily upon his luscious platinum locks, and mourned the loss of his king and father under the light of moon and star, weeping to the roses in the gardens, all memory of me, his lover,, his lover, having faded from his mind his beautiful mind the moment Thranduil had seen the point of a sword pierce his father’s heart, and protrude from his chest. I was supposed to be at his side, ready to offer comfort the moment he was in need of it, to clear his mind with the gentlest and most tender of touches, but alas, he refused me, insisting that I should not see him in the state he was in, insisting that no one should. And contradictory to his wishes, I wanted to show him how much I loved him, how much he meant to me, and how I couldn’t stand by and which his heart whither and die.

I suppose that was how I found myself walking about the bushes and clumps of verdant shrubbery and blooms of all shades, searching hastily for the alabaster roses my beloved cherished so dearly, seeing as the golden light of day that normally dusted the forest floor was beginning to fade, the luminescence of night taking its place, the silver glow that Thranduil lamented beneath.

My eyes soon found the bush, the pallid blooms and the decay that surrounded it looking like death itself under the now sterling light and although the sight brought me a great regret, and overwhelming heartache, I approached, my fingertips resting gently upon the velvet petals, as I sank to my knees beside the thicket. I went to pluck the single flower from its accomplices, but stopped when I saw the deadly thorns, the points an ebony hue, dark as the dead of night was frightful.

This is for Thranduil, these feeble things make him happy, I thought, a soft sigh escaping my lips. For Thranduil.

I closed my fingers around the pointed stem, tears pricking my eyes as a rivulet of crimson trickled down my hand, staining my wrists with its color. I pulled the bloom from the bush with as much delicacy as I could manage, transferring it to my other hand, the same stream of color escaping my fingertips and palm again.

Again I grasped the stem of another, sickly beautiful flower, and again I placed it in my other hand. I did not stop the repetition, despite the ever growing pain and bleeding cuts that soon littered my hands, until I had a handful of seven flowers. I looked down to the matted down, ochre blades of grass, the dirt beneath, drops of my blood blotching the long dead plant life as I sniffed, tears falling from my eyes to join the blood.

“Y/N,” A familiar voice, regal, sweet, and full of melancholy gasped from behind me, “w-what are you doing here.”

I stood, turning to face him, to see the celestial form of Thranduil, clothed in the same dark shade as my dried blood upon the ground, his pale hair unadorned and unbraided, his milky skin seeming to glitter in the moonlight, his eyes already brimming with tears.

My hand came behind my back, in order to hide the cluster of flora and the blood on my that hand, while the other foolishly brushed back a strand of my H/C hair.

“I was mourning,” I muttered, the lie passing through my teeth easily as I sniffed.

“You have not once mourned the loss of my father since he sailed,” Thranduil accused, although the accusation was light and void of any anger, as he approached, me his footsteps soft against the forest floor, “why would you be mourning now?”

I felt his deft fingers slither around my wrists, encircling them in an instant and pulling the roses and my mutilated fingers from behind my back.

“What is this?” He asked, his glacial eyes meeting mine, fury and hurt evident in them, striking guilt into my heart as I realized his utter disgust. Fear filled my heart at the thought of what he might do, the punishment he may bestow upon me, “why have you taken flowers from my father’s gardens? Why are your hands riddled with these horrid blemishes?”

Shameful tears slipped from my eyes and down my cheeks as I bent my head, eyes finding my feet instantly as Thranduil pulled his silken handkerchief from his pocket and pressing it to the wounds.

“I-I suppose I don’t rightly know,” I conceded, my words growing to a sob as the next words spilled from my lips, “I just thought that if I brought you the roses you cared so much about, they would make you happy. I thought they would make you see how much I care for you, and that I am here for you. I thought I could get you to see that you don’t have to weep to these flowers, but to me, because I love you. I just wanted to make you happy, Thranduil!”

His attempts to staunch the bleeding were put to a halt after my last words had been confessed. I looked up at him, to his eyes, to see what I thought would be vehemence and loathe, but what was rather a soft sorrow and care as he looked from the roses to me, tears blossoming and streaming from his widened eyes as he stared into my own E/C irises.

“Meleth,” I beseeched, my lower lip trembling as the suspense wove its way into my heart, turning all to repine, “please. Say something.”

A loud, innocent wail resounded through the densely wooded forest, strong arms enveloping my waist and pressing my ever closer by the base of my neck as the concealed bone of my lover’s jawline rested upon my shoulder, burying deeply into my H/C locks, the flowers all but forgot as they came to ruin between our now touching frames.

“Y/N,” Thranduil croaked, his tears soaking through my clothing, like the blood at my wrists, staining the skin of my shoulder. My heart shattered in my chest, the glass making up the vessel fracturing in my chest for the final time at the sincerity and woe of the state of which my name was uttered, “my dearly beloved. I am infinitely sorry. I should not have neglected you so, you or the comforts you provide. I did not mean to reduce you to this, and I am so…so sorry, guren vell.”

Silent tears streamed from my eyes and into the pale, silken strands of hair that were gleamed in the moonlight, contrasting with the dark fabric of Thranduil’s robes as I clung to them and the muscular form beneath, hushed sobs causing my body to quiver violently in Thranduil’s arms.

“Y/N,” Thranduil said as he retreated from our embrace, his hands lightly running the length of my arms, following the slope of my shoulders and neck until his gentle fingers encased my cheeks, his thumbs tracing small circles against the soft skin sweetly, the dark sleeves of his outermost robes pooling at his elbows, exposing those of a close fitting black kaftan beneath, “do not weep, my dear, please, do not weep. Your every tear breaks my heart. I beg of you, forgive me, and stay the flow of your tears.”

Once, Thranduil had been the one grasping for words, but now, his apology, his delicate care, and the massive amount of love he harbored for me was leaving me in the same inescapable position, rather than him.

“Thranduil,” I sniffed, my hands grasping at his covered forearms, as if to steady the furious, unsteady, unceasing quaking of my fingers, “oh, Thranduil. You needn’t fret, just as you needn’t ask for forgiveness, these are tears of joy and my mercy… well, it is already yours. That and my love, it is yours and it always will be yours.”

Sterling tears pooled in Thranduil’s lustrous, glacial eyes, as they searched my face for any lie, awe overcoming his features when he found none. The droplets of silver then spilled from those beloved eyes just as sincerely and in the same massive quantity as my own.

My fingers left their post at my beloved’s elbow and found their way to his cheek, smearing the pristine cheeks dry of any hint of the sorrow that his mind and heart were now void of.

“Stay your tears, gornon,” I cooed, pulling the ellon close to me, his arms encircling my smaller form as my hands traveled soothingly up and down his sturdy back, the tense muscles beneath loosening after months of being tense with grief and stress, “I am here now. I am here for you, meleth e-guilen, so dry your tears, and let us return to the comforts of sleep. My bed has grown cold without your warmth and I long for such comforts now.”

“Thank you, Y/N, miluis,” Thranduil murmured, his voice small and almost inaudible, but filled with love, pure and true. He pressed a kiss to the curve of my neck and pulled out of our embrace, allowing me to then weave my fingers delicately in between his.

“Your welcome, Thranduil. You are forever welcome.”

And with that, we left the gardens behind, the dense thickets of shrubbery and hoards of twisted oaks seeming to disappear behind us as we walked under moon and star, leaving the bundle of grief striking blooms, crumpled and ruined and long forgotten, upon the dusty ground.


End file.
